


Where you are (I will be)

by redroseinsanity



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Iwaizumi Hajime - Freeform, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru - Freeform, M/M, Mutual Pining, is my hand kink showing yet, like a friend hand holding to a non friend hand holding, oikawa tooru - Freeform, still completely SFW tho, that's it that's the whole thing, they hold hands a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 15:39:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16200536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redroseinsanity/pseuds/redroseinsanity
Summary: A study of Oikawa and Iwaizumi's evolving relationship in snapshots of hand-holdingTheirs is a love that starts out like a seed and it takes two sets of hands tending it for a shoot to appear. There are no dramatic declarations of love, only a pair of hands that find each other again and again and again.





	Where you are (I will be)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Zella Day's Compass. 
> 
>  
> 
> _Where you are, I will be_
> 
>  
> 
> _Anywhere, in between_

Falling in love with Oikawa Tooru didn’t happen overnight, it was no lightning strike in the thick of the darkness. There was no blinding flash of realisation, no jolt of electricity that suddenly told him, _yes, this one_ , no hairs standing on end to profess their adoration for him.

Simply put, Iwaizumi Hajime didn’t look at his setter’s hands one day and think, _I want those hands in mine for a long time._

Likewise, being in love with Iwaizumi Hajime wasn’t always a truth, not in the way the ocean has always been there. Not in the way it is a constant before you were born and will continue to be after you die, nor in the way it remains steady and unchanging. 

Because Oikawa Tooru hasn’t always wondered what his ace’s calloused hands would feel like brushing against his own.

Theirs is a love that starts out like a seed and it takes two sets of hands tending it for a shoot to appear. There are no dramatic declarations of love, only a pair of hands that find each other again and again and again.

. . . 

Life wasn’t fair, six year old Hajime concluded, on his knees and staring moodily at a fat caterpillar, no doubt close to cocooning.

No one his age wanted to be explorers or play fun sports like football (they liked some dumb catching game instead). _I should’ve been a caterpillar,_ he mused, one finger trailing in the dirt as he watched his dream creature munch on a leaf, _then it wouldn’t matter that all the kids my age are_ dumb _. Even that new kid, Oikawa or whatever._

A herd of children stampeded past, trading shouts of teasing insults as they surged to the open field that was their play area. Instinctively, Hajime shielded the caterpillar with his body, cupping his hands around it, lest it get trampled by the rush of small feet.

He relaxed only when with sounds of footsteps faded into the distance, opening his hands up to peer at the plump creature.

“Um, excuse me?” Hajime whipped around to glare at the source of a hesitant but bell-like voice, hands moving of their own accord to hide the caterpillar again. It was him, the new boy, big eyes flickering from Hajime’s face to his tiny hands cupped protectively around the sluggishly moving caterpillar.

“What are you doing?”

Hajime wanted to ignore the question, to be stubborn and rude to the other boy. But no one had ever shown his activities much interest before and the words were out before Hajime could even stop himself.

“It’s the larva of a butterfly,” he shifted over, lifting his hands so that Oikawa (‘a sunshine child’ he’s heard the neighbourhood aunties whisper), who had taken two curious steps forward, could see the slightly furry body, munching away on a leaf that Hajime had brought it.

“It moves slow, cause it’s so fat, see? And all the other kids come charging over so fast that it’ll get stepped on before it becomes a butterfly,” Hajime explained, narrowing his eyes to glare at the children, some of whom were calling Oikawa over to start the game.

Waving his hands at them to start first, Oikawa looked apologetic, to Hajime’s ultimate surprise.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know I could have stepped on it!” He smiled, earnest and sweet, unleashing twin dimples that made it physically difficult for Hajime to feel angry, “I promise I’ll be more careful next time when I’m running around here. I won’t step on any!” He promised, squatting down next to Hajime and folding slight arms over the tops of his knees as a cushion for his chin.

Hajime blinked. He’d spent a long time (2 weeks was a long time for a six year old, okay) nursing a spark of jealousy when it came to Oikawa but this boy was completely different from the puffball that Hajime had made him out to be in his mind.

“Anyway, how do you know?”

“Know what?” Hajime huffed out. The two boys watched the brown and caramel body inch its way up a tree trunk, blending in with the bark.

“That it’s a baby butterfly,” Oikawa wrinkled his nose, “It’s not even pretty like a butterfly is.” Hajime rolled his eyes.

“I’ve kept one before. When it grows up, it’ll be a Therm-o-zeph-y-rus a-ta-xus,” he said slowly, taking care to pronounce the name right. He was proud of himself for knowing this, just as a real explorer would. Oikawa looked part-impressed, part-bewildered, furrowing his brow before nodding slowly.

“That’s a cool name! So is it still brown when it grows up?”

“Kinda,” Hajime let some excitement leak into his voice, “When it’s a butterfly, the outside of its wings are brown but the insides are dark grey with bits of purple! It’s really cool!” Oikawa’s eyes brightened, glowing with Hajime’s residual enthusiasm.

“Whoa!!! That sounds really pretty!” Oikawa cocked his head, eyes thoughtful and mischievous all at once, “It’s kinda like you.”

“What?” Hajime was thrown, “What do you mean?”

“The butterfly,” Oikawa explained, “It’s boring on the outside, but pretty interesting on the inside! Like you! What’s your name, by the way? The other kids don’t seem to know.”

Hajime sifted through the information and settled on what he could respond to.

“Iwaizumi,” he muttered. Oikawa puffed out his cheeks before declaring:

“Iwa-chan, then! Come on, let’s go play!” Startled, Hajime looked at Oikawa, round face open and beaming, uttering the words Hajime had always ached to hear. Words that he’d wished to hear on eyelashes and blown out birthday candles.

He opened his mouth to assent and then bit the ‘yes’ back because of his pride. Gritting his teeth, he eyed his dirty, undone shoelaces.

“I don’t want to play stupid games,” he mumbled into the soil beneath him.

“Well, what do you want to play then? It has to be a sport that everyone else can play cause I already said I would play with them today. But tomorrow, we can do whatever you want and you can show me more cool stuff!” Oikawa stood up, brushing invisible dirt off his shorts.

“Football,” Hajime looked up at the other boy, his brown hair lit in a halo by the late afternoon sun. _A sunshine child_ , the words echoed in Hajime’s mind. Oikawa’s face was a shadow but he saw the white gleam of teeth when he smiled and extended a hand down to Hajime.

“Football it is!” Oikawa declared. Hajime looked at Oikawa’s pristine hand and down at his own grubby one, reaching for it, and hesitated.

With a sigh, Oikawa leaned down, closed the distance and grabbed Hajime’s hand, dirt and all, hauling him to his feet.

“Come _on_ , Iwa-chan!”

. . .

Three years of being friends with Iwaizumi had Tooru believing that his best friend was the bravest person he knew. When there was a particularly big ugly bug, Tooru would cower behind the scruffy haired boy, fixing dark, anxious eyes on the monster until Iwaizumi bottled it up or guided them further away from the creature, always keeping himself between Tooru and the insect.

If there was especially loud thunder during a storm, Iwaizumi never flinched at the monumental claps the way Tooru did. Nor did he seem to mind very much, despite a few half-hearted grumbles, when Tooru burrowed his head into the other boy’s chest, entire hand wrapped around Iwaizumi’s thumb.

But what really cemented this was being confronted with four hulking boys on a quiet street one late Friday evening.

Tooru’s panicked mind keened as he struggled to analyse the situation: older students from a nearby school, probably in some sort of gang, no weapons, taller and bigger builds, loose semicircle that moved to surround them.

The four boys jeered a little as they moved closer to the two friends, their eyes lingering on their schoolbags and lips pulled in nasty grimaces. In the setting sun, their shadows lengthened and grew, threatening to swallow Tooru up.

As he took an uncertain step back, Iwaizumi took a jerky step half forward, half in Tooru’s direction as though he wasn’t sure if he wanted to confront the bullies or comfort Tooru more. It was as though Tooru’s movement elicited an instinctive response in Iwaizumi that overrode his own immediate reactions and the conflicting desires warred on his expression as Tooru watched him draw a similar conclusion of their circumstances.

Heavy steps drew closer.

And closer.

Tooru heard rather than saw the rock whistle by and strike one of the closer boys, and he saw rather than felt Hajime seize his hand and yank him into a run.

There was an enraged roar behind them but Tooru was stumbling along behind his best friend, pulled along by Iwaizumi’s momentum and the vice grip he had on Tooru’s hand.

The buildings blurred into an unfathomable grey, the sky seemed to have gotten darker in the span of mere minutes and all sound was muted except for the echoes of his own heart thudding in his ears. But Tooru could see the back of Iwaizumi’s head clear as day, clearer than anything he’d ever seen.

He could see every ink black strand and the drops of sweat trickling down the sides of his neck, and in those breathless minutes, everything was Iwa-chan, steadily leading them toward this cluster of houses and down that street.

When they finally stopped, both of them were heaving gasping breaths and without relinquishing his grip, Iwaizumi turned to face Tooru.

“Are you okay?”

Tooru had no reply because he was too busy gawping at Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi whose eyes were wide and wild and _scared_ , whose hand was clutching Tooru’s just as hard as Tooru was clutching his and shaking just as hard too.

 _Iwa-chan is scared too_ , Tooru was hit by the revelation. _He was just as terrified as I was but he got us out of there._

“Oikawa? Tooru, are you okay?” Iwaizumi squeezed Tooru’s fingers.

Before he could ask again, Iwaizumi was engulfed in a hug that had him staggering back a few steps before he balanced the both of them, and a noseful of Tooru’s lavender shampoo.

“I’m okay now, Iwa-chan,” Tooru replied honestly, his heart contracting as he buried his face in his best friend’s sweaty neck, _I’m okay as long as we’re together._

. . .

Staring up at the falling bullets of rain, Hajime heaved a sigh and resigned himself to getting an earful from his mother who had explicitly told him to bring an umbrella out that morning.

With the practised ease of someone who never used umbrellas, Hajime rootled for the plastic bag which housed his dirty clothes and unhoused them with a silent apology to the rest of his bag, choosing to waterproof his phone, wallet and that stupid math textbook that cost 1000 yen more than the others.

Fourteen year old Tooru, whose already extensive beauty regime which involved toning and moisturizing his face with five different products and doing something to his hair, emerged last from the locker room, and by that time, the downpour was even heavier.

Casting an eye at the weather, Tooru let out a delicate sigh highly disproportionate to the ghastly weather in its daintiness and extracted a pale grey umbrella with lilac trimmings. Stepping up next to Hajime, he opened the umbrella and swung it up with all the practised ease of someone who had always had to share his umbrella, angling it so that the two of them would get maximum coverage in an umbrella meant for one.

“You don’t have to-”

“You owe me milk bread tomorrow!” Tooru announced delightedly, before charging out into the thundering shower.

“Idiotkawa,” Hajime managed under his breath before leaping out after his very manipulative best friend.

“You just want me to treat you to milk bread,” Hajime accused as they struggled through the onslaught of wind and water drops pelting their faces despite Tooru’s valiant attempts to a shield them with his umbrella.

“Iwa-chan!” Tooru stopped right in the middle of a puddle, hair dripping and aghast expression stark on his face, “I’m trying so hard to keep us dry! How can you accuse me of extorting milk bread from you?”

Rolling his eyes, Hajime opened his mouth to argue but Tooru wasn’t done.

“And you’re not even helping, your arm keeps hitting my bag, it’s very distracting when I’m trying to protect the both of us from the weather gods, you know?”

Hajime stared at Tooru with incredulous exasperation but even then, watching his friend’s cheeky, laughing eyes and broad smile, he couldn’t help but feel a grin begin to pull at his mouth until they were both sniggering in the middle of the pavement at the sheer silliness of it all.

“Okay, okay, what do you want me to do? Hold the umbrella?” Hajime reached for the black plastic handle as they started moving again.

“Noooo, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa protested, swatting at the incoming hand, “Just hold on to my arm like all normal people when they share umbrellas!”

Hajime obediently lifted his hand and rested it awkwardly at Tooru’s elbow. Tooru’s skin was cool and damp from the rain, but it burned like a furnace under Hajime’s uncertain fingers.

It was the age whereby touch was no longer as casual, thoughtless and instinctive as it used to be when they were younger but before they managed to work around growing up and all its accompanying complexities to fall back into their own, steady rhythm in which they were as comfortable with each other as before.

Hajime fidgeted, shifting his hand higher up and coming into contact with ridiculously smooth skin before deciding that further down along Tooru’s forearm was a better place to hold. But that bent his wrist at an uncomfortable angle and Hajime just gave up, opting to make a grab for the handle again.

“Lemme hold it!”

“No! Go away!”

Fingers scrabbled over knuckles, the umbrella was brandished dangerously, sending the raindrops collected on the nylon sprinkling onto their shoulders.

Twenty minutes later, they showed up at Hajime’s house, both of them three quarters sopping wet with Tooru stubbornly holding on to his umbrella and Hajime adamantly clinging onto the portion of the handle just above Tooru so much so that his pinky overlapped with Tooru’s forefinger.

. . .

Hajime woke up lightly perspiring in his light jacket and completely disoriented. It was only when his headrest moved that he remembered where they were and why they were there.

“It’s not our stop yet, you can sleep some more,” Oikawa’s murmur filtered down to his shoulder where Hajime’s head was currently pillowed. He’d never tell Oikawa but Oikawa was annoyingly comfortable to fall asleep on.

Hajime never woke up with a neck cramp because Oikawa was just the right height and his broad shoulders meant that Hajime’s head had never slipped off either. But it wasn’t just that.

It was that Oikawa sometimes rested his cheek on the top of Hajime’s head when he thought that Hajime was sleeping and that made him feel so secure that he did fall asleep soon after.

It was the way Oikawa noticed he was sleepy without him having to say anything and then angled his body just so, so that all Hajime had to do was lean over slightly and he would be met with the ultimate pillow.

It was the way Oikawa woke him up, with gentle fingers brushing over his wrist or a soft “Iwa-chan” that he always seemed to catch no matter how deeply asleep he was.

It was the way Oikawa’s hands had flown up, one flung protectively over Hajime’s body and the other cradling his head when the bus had braked hard and sudden while Hajime was asleep on the way back to school from an external match.

They no longer shared beds like they had when they were younger, but Hajime supposed that if they did, Oikawa would probably be devastatingly comfortable to cuddle up to. It was a thought Hajime tried not to have, but it always came when he awoke on Oikawa’s shoulder, while his breathing was still even and sleep was still clinging to his consciousness.

Several stops later, the two of them stepped onto the platform with a good mixture of trepidation and excitement. And it was _terrifying_.

Never had they been confronted with so many people. They knew that living away from the city meant that they were more or less labelled country bumpkins but it wasn’t as though they lived under a rock or never used the internet.

But actually being out in the city for the first time? It was overwhelming. It seemed like the whole of Japan had decided to convene in that particular station at that very moment, and there was so much sound. Not bad sound, nothing jarring or annoying but just a never-ending stream of something, as though the city proved it was alive with the roar of blood rushing in its veins.

They’d never really been daunted by much though, and so they stepped into the horde of people flooding the station on a bright Saturday afternoon…

And almost immediately they lost each other.

Getting intercepted by a couple who refused to unlink their arms and refusing to barge past an elderly lady who was going at her own pace despite the pressing bodies, Hajime saw a flash of chestnut disappear behind a pillar and that was that.

He didn’t panic, although he reckoned that this was probably what young Simba felt when he got caught up in that stampede in the gorge. He knew where they were going, roughly remembered the directions and was certain that Oikawa would wait for him at the correct exit.

Still, Hajime’s stomach churned a little as his eyes darted from sign to sign and his palms started sweating as he struggled through the crowd to the right escalator.

Stopping short, he had the irrational fear that he was misremembering the exit he was supposed to head to and momentarily forgot to breathe in, mind racing to recover the information, rewinding past the papers strewn on Oikawa’s desk where they had planned this day trip to catch a volleyball match in Tokyo.

 _An adventure, Iwa-chan!_ His mind flung up a memory of their planning which certainly did not involve getting separated just as a slim-fingered hand slipped into his. He jumped although his fingers closed reflexively around the hand that his body recognised despite his brain’s doubt.

“Iwa-chan, you disappeared!” The familiar whiny voice confirmed it for him even before he turned around and despite keeping his face neutral, Hajime felt the tension bleed away almost instantaneously.

Facing his best friend, he saw a sunny grin that teased him for being silly, but he also saw eyes that were a little too wide for Oikawa to not have been scared and a tightness in his smile that betrayed his worry.

“It was crowded and you walked too fast, dumbass,” he replied evenly, his fingers tightening in response to Oikawa’s grip.

“No, your legs are just too short, that’s why you can’t keep up with- Ow! No! Iwa-chan, stop, you’ll be mistaken for a hooligan and then they’ll call the police on you!” Oikawa squealed, one hand raised to fend off Hajime’s blows as the other continued to remain intertwined with Hajime’s.

It was like watching two different conversations unfold at once, with one that was all playful retorts and comfortable laughter, and another that was simply told by the interlacing of fingers like a snapshot of stillness in midst of an evermoving wave of the city’s heartbeat.

“I can’t let you wander off again,” Oikawa declared, tugging Hajime’s hand like it was a leash.

“You’re the one who wandered off, Shittykawa!”

“Your dear mother would never forgive me if I came back Iwa-chan-less and told her I lost you in the crowd,” Oikawa struck a dramatic horrified pose, then snuck a smirk at Hajime, “Although, she might just rejoice and adopt me instead since we all know she loves me more th- No, Iwa-chan, don’t-!” Oikawa broke off into giggles as Hajime slowed the descent of his hand from a slap to the back of Oikawa’s head to a gentle ruffle of the taller boy’s hair.

Allowing a smile to sit on the corners of his lips, Hajime pulled at his best friend’s hand, weaving through the crowd with Oikawa in tow and leading them to their exit.

They didn’t let go until they got up the bus fifteen minutes later.

. . .

 _He’s going to be okay, he’s going to be okay, he’s going to be okay_ , Hajime chanted, trying not to hyperventilate and gulp the disinfectant scented air. He had latched on to the most crucial thing that had come out of the doctor’s mouth and clung to it like a lifeline.

With care, Tooru would be back on the court as though nothing had happened save for a knee guard. But most importantly, he was _going to be okay_. A slightly trembling hand smoothened sweat-matted hair away from a pale forehead; Hajime’s hands had started shaking the moment he got Tooru’s terrified, panicky call and they hadn’t steadied since.

Not when he was slamming the door of the court open after sprinting over in the dead of the night. Not when he was on his knees next to an inert Tooru, hands hovering, and voice rough and breaking, angry and afraid all at once. Not when he was gathering his best friend into his arms and rocking him as though he could make the pain stop if he held Tooru close enough.

“You’ll be okay,” he told the sleeping form, ragged and barely above a whisper. Tooru’s parents had stayed way past visiting hours but after a brief discussion with Hajime’s parents on the phone, they had gone home to get a few hours of rest and some fresh clothes for Tooru to go home in, leaving Hajime to stay with their son.

Hajime would not, could not be moved from Tooru’s side. From the moment he had skidded into the gym to the time Tooru had been warded, he had never been more than an arm’s length or so away. Tooru’s parents had found him outside the examination room, pressing his forehead against the doors, fists clenched so tight his knuckles were stark white and eyes shut under furrowed brows.

The clock on the wall showed that it was roughly a quarter past three but he was too jittery to sleep, so he lowered himself into the chair next to the bed and counted Tooru’s inhales in time to the ticking.

At three thirty, he found Tooru’s hand under the blanket and slowly drew it out, leaning his forehead against the cool skin in the way a desperate man cants toward salvation, and closed his eyes. _You’ll be okay_ , he promised, _we’ll make sure you’re okay and I’ll always be here to make sure you are_.

It was four twenty six in the morning when Hajime’s hands finally steadied around Tooru’s and he drifted off to sleep, lulled by the other boy’s even breaths and the warmth emanating from his side.

When Tooru woke up close to eleven the next day, the first thing he registered wasn’t the dull ache in his knee, nor the dried sweat on his skin, nor the unfamiliar surroundings, but the slightly slackened pair of warm hands that his own was nestled in.

He didn’t even have to think before sliding his hand up and wrapping his fingers around one of Hajime’s thumbs. _Safe_ , his brain hummed. Despite everything, the hints of a smile began curling at the edges of his lips, his first genuine one in months, and he relaxed back into the pillows, eyelids fluttering shut. 

_Safe_ , he agreed.

. . .

Tooru claimed that he didn’t like babies. He shied away from them in public and refused to carry Takeru for the first 12 months after he was born. But the truth wasn’t that he despised the ‘little pooping machines’ as he so declared, but that he was scared of them.

Babies looked at you and saw your soul. And Tooru knew that when babies saw his soul they cried.

So Tooru avoided eye contact with the inquisitive creature in the baby carrier, looking directly at the mole just behind Iwaizumi’s ear and blabbering on about something inane. He must have said something silly because Iwaizumi sent him an amused sideways glance and let out a chuckle, shaking his head.

And Tooru bloomed.

He continued talking, a laugh infusing his words, carrying the rest of his sentence. In this relaxed state, he forgot why he was rambling on in the first place and turned in front to see a tiny face, half-hidden in his mother’s dove-grey blouse with big eyes focused on Tooru but _smiling_. A happy, open mouthed, gummy smile that reflected the radiance of Tooru’s own bright grin.

Tooru was so caught off guard he stopped mid-sentence, mind flailing to comprehend.

 _This baby is looking at my soul and smiling_ , Tooru thought, grip on the bus pole going slack, _he’s looking at the way my soul lights up because of Iwa-chan and he’s smiling because like this, like_ this _my soul is brilliant._

The bus jerked to a stop and Tooru, no longer holding on to anything but his own delighted surprise, flew a couple of feet before he was yanked back by a firm hand on his wrist.

“Hold on, Idiotkawa,” Iwaizumi muttered, guiding Tooru’s hand back to the pole and nudging the cold metal with Tooru’s limp fingers a couple of times before he sighed, sliding his hand up and wrapping his own hand around Tooru’s over the pole, “Jeez, how does your mother think you’re fit to go out in public on your own?”

An automatic, “Mean, Iwa-chan!” played from his lips but Tooru blinked a couple of times at the warm hand resting over his, a sharp contrast to the cool surface of the pole.

Every time Iwaizumi tried to move his hand up to the section of the pole above Tooru’s, Tooru let his hand slip off until the other boy caught it and secured it with his again, his eyes fixed on the outside of the bus window the entire time. After the third try, the ace rolled his hazel eyes and kept his hand clasped over the setter’s.

Tooru and the baby smiled at each other until it was time for the baby to get off the bus.

. . .

"Um... This is a bit… challenging but the other way will take much longer," Oikawa paused, Hajime could hear him considering.

Then, "Okay Iwa-chan, can you lift your leg about a metre off the ground and then cross over this barrier?"

"We better not be doing anything illegal," Hajime warned as he complied.

"No, no, relax, Iwa-chan, just trust me!" And he did. It showed in the nearly seamless manner he'd allowed himself to be guided down two streets and across one incredibly busy road while blindfolded with Oikawa’s sleeping mask with panda eyes on the front.

"Okay, ah, now can you take this giant step up. Give me your hand, you should feel it first and then lift your leg up so you know- yeah this high- lift and I'll boost you up. Can you?"

Hajime could. But then again, Oikawa could ask for the impossible and Hajime would find a way to give it to him, regardless of how long it took or how much it took.

Which is why when Oikawa had insisted that he clear his weekend plans and take a train down from Kyoto after his last class on Friday to meet Oikawa at his university in Tokyo, Hajime had grinned from his end of the phone and booked the _shinkansen_ tickets before they’d even hung up.

He knew that his best friend would have plans for his birthday as he did every year – being in different cities didn’t change that. Since they’d started college, Oikawa had surprised him in Kyoto, gotten Hajime’s university friends to lure him out to Osaka for an extended weekend break and conspired with Makki and Mattsun for an elaborate party that ended up with the two of them just sitting on the roof and sharing a cider while the muffled music drifted up from downstairs.

But never had he been blindfolded and led through the bustling streets of Tokyo with only the familiar calloused touch of Oikawa’s hand to ground him.

Honestly speaking, Tokyo was almost as foreign to him as it had been all those years before during their virgin day trip for a volleyball match in the city, and it really should have been more frightening to be stumbling around blind in this sea of unfamiliarity.

And yet, he just couldn’t find it in himself to be afraid, as though the scent of Oikawa’s lavender shampoo negated the assault of cooking food, petrol and hot concrete. Or maybe Hajime, so attuned to his best friend’s voice for the past eleven or so years, homed in on it like a beacon amidst the vehicle noises, other people’s conversations and what seemed like a million and one other tiny happenings.

Hajime had long lost track of the number of turns they’d made and he didn’t know how long they’d been walking since Oikawa had fitted the sleeping mask on, taken Hajime by the hand and said, “Follow me, Iwa-chan!”

But he knew that he was hearing Oikawa’s voice without static for the first time in months, that he was smiling because he could hear it in the honeyed lilt at the end of his sentences, that he’d somehow forgotten the way his voice got a little breathless when he talked about something he was excited about because he was bouncing on his toes so much so that he kind of vibrated.

He knew that Oikawa had never once let go of his hand, even when he stopped to get their bearings or navigate, he always had one hand gently clasping Hajime’s, sometimes rubbing absentminded patterns as he figured out which turn to take, sometimes with a hand in each of Hajime’s so that it seemed he was walking backwards, using himself as a shield against the onslaught of the crowd.

Finally, there was a series of air-conditioned areas and a change of pressure that told his ears that they were going up, before Oikawa carefully guided them past a door and stopped.

“Okay, Iwa-chan, are you ready?” Oikawa sang, Hajime could practically see his mouth curving into a delighted grin. The mental image drew a soft smile from him and though he tried to sound unaffected, he was unable to keep the bemused lilt out of his voice.

“Even if I’m not, you’re still going to show me, aren’t you?”

The blindfold was lifted and for a couple of seconds, he was blinded simply by the slant of light bathing Oikawa.

Time seemed to slow as he blinked, black fading to spots as he took in chestnut locks set ablaze by the light and burning like an amber halo, brown eyes melted to caramel in the glow, and a brilliant smile. Hajime blinked again, harder this time.

_A sunshine child._

Of its own accord, his hand lifted, like a child wanting to touch a fey to be sure that it was real. There was the barest brush of fingertips against soft skin and sharp jaw before Hajime stared at his traitor hand, so caught up marvelling at his own sheer foolishness or bravery that he missed the way Oikawa’s lids lowered and his gaze went hazy.

“You’re all… Golden.” It was meant to be an explanation, but it came out wondering and slightly lost. 

And then he saw it.

“Oh my god,” the words fell out in a gasp.

“Oh my god!” In a higher pitch, his grip on Oikawa’s hand tightening as he tried to process what he was seeing.

“Is that-” he managed before he took a step closer to the window, flattening his other hand on the glass as he peered at the gigantic figure staring back at him from outside.

“ _Gojira!_ ” He heard his ten year old self emerge and squeal as his twenty year old self gaped at a huge Godzilla figure positioned right outside the room they were in.

“Happy birthday, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa trilled, squeezing his hand before easing away only to come back with a bag.

“These are all the godzilla themed amenities that come with the room,” Hajime turned to see Oikawa holding up a mug and bag with “Godzilla Room” and other designs emblazoned on them, “Maybe now Iwa-chan will finally comb that unmanageable hair of his with this special brush~”

Whatever Oikawa was expected as a result of that teasing comment, it definitely wasn’t Hajime crossing over to him in two large strides and pulling him into a tight hug.

“Thank you,” Hajime murmured into the side of Oikawa’s neck as the other went slightly boneless, curling into Hajime and clinging.

“Anything for Iwa-chan,” came so quietly that Hajime almost let himself believe that he’d imagined it.

Because a split second later, Oikawa straightened and found Hajime’s hand again, gingerly twining their fingers together before flashing another radiant grin.

“We have the room for the weekend so you can stare at your beloved Gojira for as long as you want, but now…” Oikawa pulled Hajime to the door, “Let me bring you to eat the best ramen of your life.”

There was no backward glance at Godzilla, nor did he ask to look at the merchandise, because those would be here when they returned. But this was Oikawa, warm and shining with one hand in Hajime’s and the other on Hajime’s heart, the way it had been long before Hajime had realised. And he was asking Hajime to follow him.

So he did.

. . .

Wildly gorgeous. That was Oikawa Tooru on a lazy Saturday evening, Hajime thought. Hajime was slouched in his corner of the couch, painfully aware of the worn, muscled calves that rested on his lap.

Tooru’s brown hair was mussed after his shower and his glasses sat low on his nose, but it was exactly like this, curled up with an old rerun of a tv show playing in the background, that Hajime liked him the best.

It was times like these when Hajime wondered if he, when asked to look back at the prime of his life, would think about this exact moment, staring at his best friend and deciding that this could be the same fifty years on and it would still feel right.

Meanwhile, Tooru was carefully spooning some concoction of yoghurt, honey and gummy bears that surely negated the healthy properties of the yoghurt into his mouth.

“I know you’re plotting to steal my snack,” Tooru murmured, narrowing his eyes and wriggling so that only his feet remained resting on the side of Hajime’s thigh, prepared to defend his yoghurt.

“Shittykawa, why would I want your gross food?” Hajime scoffed, trying not to be distracted by the way Tooru looked in Hajime’s old sweater, washed and stretched out to the point that it hung loose on the taller boy and only his fingers peeked out from the sleeves.

“It’s an athlete’s diet, Iwa-chan!” Tooru gasped, mock outrage painted on his delicate features.

“All the sugar in our kitchen belongs to you,” Hajime stated wryly, mind replaying Tooru’s aghast expression when they did their first grocery run after getting an apartment together a year ago.

“Yeah, cause Iwa-chan is a barbarian who doesn’t know how to appreciate the finer things in life,” Tooru sniffed, before his expression shifted into one of mischief. Going up on his knees, he shuffled over to Hajime and then half knelt on him, grin splitting his face.

“Say ahhhh,” he angled a spoonful of diabetes towards Hajime, huffing a laugh when Hajime caught his hand with the spoon and made a face, leaning back to avoid getting fed.

It was really bad timing, but it was then that Hajime realised that the streetlamps looked like starlight when they shone through the leaves, that there was no prime of his life, only time spent with Tooru and time without, that this was where he wanted to be in fifty years, still having the time of his life with Tooru.

“… you don’t let go, we’ll eventually starve and die,” he caught only the last part of Tooru’s sentence but his fingers tightened over his best friend’s hand anyway and the words were out before he could consider them.

“I don’t want to.”

Tooru blinked once and then smiled, amused, “Now, now, Iwa-chan, let’s be reasonable here, we have to go to the toilet as well, you know.”

“No, as in,” Hajime paused, considered for real this time and plunged ahead, “I don’t want to. Let you go.”

He looked up at Tooru, whose face had gone slack with surprise. He knew Hajime well enough to recognise the tone that he was using, one that meant that he was being completely serious.

“I want to hold on to you,” Hajime swallowed, tried to read the blank face above him and failed, “Oikawa?” No response.

“Hey, Tooru?” Warm brown orbs snapped to him, haze clearing, “Tooru, is that okay? May I?”

A car passed by in the street underneath the window, and then another. For a moment, Tooru just stared at him, eyes wide and searching and in that agonizing split second, Hajime feared that years of seamless communication had abruptly broken down.

Then a symphony of emotion, a shuddering breath and eyes that shone, a blinding smile that shook at the corners and a tangle of limbs.

“Iwa-chaaaan,” Tooru hiccupped into Hajime’s shoulder, the hand holding the spoon curled into a fist and pounding weakly on his chest, “You can’t spring that on me like that!”

Automatically, Hajime had one hand up, rubbing Tooru’s back and the other relieving Tooru of his spoon and bowl before grasping him by the shoulders and holding him slightly away. Slightly dizzy from the fact that this was really happening, utterly confused at what was happening, Hajime squared his jaw and stuck to what he knew.

“Hey, if you’re not okay with whatever I just said, it’s cool,” he tilted his head to try and catch his best friend’s eye, “Uh, just forget I said that if that’s going to be uncomfortable for you.”

Tooru muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “You imbecile” under his breath before cupping Hajime’s face in his hands, leaning in and gently pressing their lips together.

He studied Hajime’s face closely as he drew away and then asked carefully, “We _are_ on the same page, aren’t we?”

In response, Hajime simply slipped a hand over one of Tooru’s, still pressed to his cheek, and leaned up for another kiss.

. . .

Later that night, Tooru could make out Hajime’s features from the moonlight streaming in through the bedside windows. Again, he squeezed the hand that he was holding, resting on the sheets between their chests, as though to check if it was still real.

They’d wandered to bed hand in hand and gotten in together, no questions asked. Lips had been pressed to knuckles and murmurs had faded into whispers that melted into even breathing.

Now, staring at the pair of hands intertwined in the shaded glow of the witching hour, Tooru wondered if this was simply an enchantment that would fade at dawn. He didn’t want to wake up and find that this miracle had been stolen from him.

Hooded brown eyes followed the curve of a cheek, the strength of a shoulder and the lines of his Iwa-chan. This was bliss like he’d never known before and he wanted to bottle it up and hide it away and guard it with his life.

He didn’t realise that his grip on Hajime’s hand had gotten tighter until the sleeping form shifted and with his eyes still shut, Hajime’s arm shot out and drew him closer into his chest.

“Stop overthinking and go to sleep, Tooru. I’m not going anywhere,” Hajime rumbled. Tooru suppressed a smile, burrowed into the warmth and went boneless, slowly giving in to the pull of sleep.

Because this was no epic love story with over the top proclamations and braving fire and brimstone for a castle or a princess.

This was them, with a garden full of flowers that they’d tended since the first seed planted all those years ago and a pair of hands entwined. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Come spazz with me on [tumblr](https://redroseinsanity.tumblr.com/), I am always happy to talk about anything and everything!


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